If I Die Young

This song has been weaving its way in and out of my consciousness for the last week and change -- ever since one of my coworkers took his own life last week:

If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song

He was 33 years old, and the father of three young boys, ages 2, 4, and 6. He was a veteran of two wars -- Iraq and Afghanistan -- and, as is likely obvious from his cause of death, he'd long battled depression.

He was also funny and friendly and full of life, so it was a real shock to all of us having him at work one day, dead the next:

Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother
She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors
Oh, and life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no
Ain't even gray, but she buries her baby

The sharp knife of a short life
Well, I've had just enough time

I wasn't able to attend his funeral, but my coworkers said it was especially emotional when his children were each presented with a set of dog tags. When I heard that, it did seem fitting -- as with so many other soldiers, leaving the war-torn country doesn't necessarily mean finding peace within.

I saw my acupuncturist today, a woman who participates a free acupuncture clinic for veterans for just that reason. We were talking about the tragedy of all this, and I told her that though I hadn't struggled with suicidal thoughts, at the lowest point in my postpartum depression, I longed for non-existence -- for myself, for my kids. Thankfully I wasn't sick enough that I tried to harm myself or my children, but just having the feeling that I didn't have in me what it took to live my life was one of the most frightening experiences I've had.

Luckily, I knew on a deep level, even in the grip of those dire feelings, that that wasn't really me. I knew that the best part of me loved my kids more than anything else in the world, and wanted nothing more than to be well enough to fully embrace my life with them. So I reached out, and I got help. "You knew," my acupuncturist said. "People don't always know, and it really raises the stakes for those of us who do."

I'll say. I don't know exactly how yet, but this death motivates me even more to try to use my experiences to help others who find themselves in a similar position...